September 1981

The room spins as she calls out the changes and counts them down to a stop.

The positions are simple enough and he's done them a million times: first a slight layback, moving to a variation of a catch-foot, then a scratch spin with arms overhead. They are at center ice facing where judges will sit, staring down a panel of national experts for their test skate.

It's not as hard as the program he had been training with his previous partner by a mile, but it's solid and they deliver it well-pretty well, he dims his assessment a touch- and it shows Rey off nicely. The transitions are too simple, the step sequence not as intricate, but their fundamentals have come along over the summer to the point the federation trusts to send them to a few senior B competitions this fall to show them off. They can manage the required elements without embarrassing themselves and Ben doesn't think it's arrogant to believe the federation wants to send a message that their golden child in pairs is down, but by no means out of the race towards a medal in Sarajevo.

If all goes well, they will compete at nationals in December, make Europeans in January, and secure the alternate spot for Worlds the following spring. Their komrades finished poorly enough the previous year to lose one of their precious three spots, but an alternate berth will be fine. They will go, they will train, and if they are needed? They will be ready. If not, it will be an experience.

There is no need to peak now. The competitive season is as long as the winter here, and then some. 1983 will be the year that matters, ahead of the Games. It would be best if they go to Yugoslavia as reigning World Champions.

Luke rises from his place at the end of the bench that holds the panel and moves aways down the boards to meet them. The fur coats are scribbling notes furiously and conferring amongst each other, but Ben notices the calm way Rey ignores them, as though this was no different than any other practice. They took a risk choosing her: they have no idea how she'll react at a competition, where nerves often make a mess of the steadiest skaters.

A small swell of pride in her indifference to their jury blossoms in his chest and he places his hand on her lower back as they stop in front of Luke.

Her look at him tells him she knows he's putting it on for the officials, and she's right. Aside from their training, he has never laid a hand on her. Despite what people want to believe, the fantasy they want to project onto a team, it's not like that for them.

"That was beautiful," Luke gushes and for a moment, Ben can see his uncle's younger self beneath his bushy beard. The man's eyes are shining and there is a flicker of excitement that Ben hasn't seen in a long, long time. "They were speechless, for once."

Rey hides her small smile in her turtleneck by using it to dab the light sweat from her upper lip. He's getting better at reading her, so he knows this faint praise from Luke means the world to her. They still don't talk very much but he knows the years in the system have scarred her, made her wary of anyone offering anything. The last time she looked this pleased was when they celebrated her birthday in the summer at his family's dacha.

Her real birthday was unknown when she was surrendered so the orphanage had chosen June 15th. He was oblivious to it until Luke was suddenly inviting her away with them one day after practice.

She was sixteen now, whether by nature or act of bureaucracy, and she had never looked happier than when she was surrounded by his family eating the tiniest sliver of the Napoleon cake his mother had made her. Leia had become a career bureaucrat following her skating life, and baking was not on her list of domestic duties.

"A girl only turns sixteen once," his mother had said as she cupped Rey's cheek as though she were Leia's own offspring. "That cake won't eat itself. You two have worked hard! You deserve a celebration."

Ben removes his hand from her back and crosses his arms against the strange irritation this memory causes.

"What else?" He asks to hasten Luke's judgement of their skate.

"The usual," Luke nods affably. It's clear he won't be harsh on them in front of an audience, and that's smart. They have to present a united face even if everyone knows it's fiction.

The usual is… well, still a lot to Ben. Their edges aren't deep enough. They skate too far apart. Their spins are slow and sometimes travel. Their lift positions are simplistic. All in all, they still skate more like two singles than a pair, and Rey's skills have a long way to go yet. While she's shown remarkable progress in the last nine months, this is a marathon, not a sprint.

"Komrades," the lead official addresses them. "Thank you."

They file past the panel, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, a cloud of cigarette smoke and perfume enveloping them. No small rodent has been spared for these women's coats and Ben marvels at time's ability to turn the prettiest girls into middle-aged crones whose faces look like they're melting towards the ice. The few gentlemen amongst them sport identical bushy moustaches and hats, the same as those who work in his mother's politburo office downtown.

The last coat is Maz, and she presses her hands to both their shoulders as though blessing them at mass. If she had a thurible stashed under her fur Ben wouldn't even bat an eye.

"Good work," she says softly. "That was better. They were impressed with your progress."

"Spasiba, Komrade," they thank her together.

They push back from the boards together and link hands to keep drilling as the panel shuffles from the rink with Luke by their side.

"Well?" She asks only when they're safely on the other side of the ice, stroking slowly in time together.

"We did alright." Ben doesn't want to overstate their performance. They haven't seen the notes yet and he knows she takes criticism very hard.

"Do you think they'll let us go?" She asks without looking at him but he knows how much it means to her to be chosen to go abroad. To be trusted with something.

"Yes," he says simply and he can't hide his smile when she dips her chin into her turtleneck to hide hers.